You'll Be the Death of Me
by Spyke1985
Summary: Shakarian one-shot. PWP. Seriously. Post-ME3, Destroy ending, Shepard lives. Totally unintended, it just happened. Mature rating for a reason. NSFW. Yeah. Enjoy!


**DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect and everything related to it belongs to bioware. This is just a demented fan's Shakarian one-shot. Oh, and this is set after ME3, Destroy ending, Shepard lives. **  
'Vima' is my version of the turian word for bondmate.

Also, Citrus warning, for those that care.

* * *

Garrus trudged down the hall, wishing he was already inside he and Shepard's apartment, so he could pour himself a glass of Palaven Brandy, sit on the couch, and relax. It had been a tiring day dealing with the Primarch, then running into the damn press of all things. He'd barely controlled himself well enough to keep from punching the extremely rude human female reporter, when she'd crudely pried into his relationship with now Admiral Shepard. He scoffed angrily at the memory, and ran his hand down his face in frustration.

As his fingers slid off the ends of his mandibles, he looked up, suddenly realizing he'd walked past their apartment door. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, thankful when he looked around to realize that nobody else was there to see his distracted blunder.

He quickly backtracked to their door and palmed the red door interface. It turned green after registering his omni-tool chip, and the door slid open quietly to reveal their softly lit apartment hallway. He stopped for a moment as he heard soft music coming from somewhere deeper in the apartment, announcing that Shepard was home.

He smiled to himself and relaxed tight muscles in relief as he walked to the kitchen, opening the liquor cabinet and retrieving his decanter of Palaven brandy, as well as a glass, which he promptly filled with a double of the golden fluid.

He carried the glass to the living room and eased into the couch, taking a long draw from his brandy before letting his head fall softly onto the back of the couch, sighing and closing his eyes in relaxation. He rested the glass on his knee and flicked on his omni-tool, sending a quick message to Shepard.

_I'm home, Vima._

The same message he'd sent every time he came home. Short, sweet, and endearing. Or at least, that's how she'd described it. He heard her omni-tool ping with the message he'd sent, followed by a soft shuffling, and the music being turned down. He heard the bedroom door slide open, and light footsteps coming up behind him.

Her scent came to him as she neared him, and suddenly his senses were set aflame. She was wearing the perfume he'd given her, the one that reminded him of all their nights together, all the hot, sweet, wild, crazy ways they'd found to show their love for each other, and all the places they'd done so. She'd only worn it once before, and it had been the most memorable, aside from their first, bumbling, awkward time.

Sparks of desire flew right to his groin, and he felt his plates moisten and shift slightly. Her fingers found their nimble, many-fingered way under his fringe, and began stroking her favorite pattern, the one she'd found that drove him to the brink without any other assistance, the one that drove him mad with primal urges that he normally kept under wraps.

Her lips found his neck, and she trailed hot kisses from his shirt collar to his ear canal, stopping only to whisper huskily: "I've been waiting for you, Vima."

He downed the rest of his brandy quickly, and leaned forward to place the glass on the low table in front of him. He rose quickly, rounding the couch to stand before her, his eyes widening as he took in the vision of her in silky and sheer lingerie, the same color as his faded clan markings. His jaw dropped, and his mandibles slackened at the sight; she'd never worn anything like this for him before.

When his roaming eyes returned to hers, he saw the gleam of hunger in them, nearly making him forget that she was human, fragile, soft. He closed the distance between them swiftly, his hands falling to her waist and kneading it softly, his face buried in her neck, inhaling her luscious aroma.

He nipped a harsh pattern from her shoulder to her jaw, then leaned back to flick his tongue over her lips in invitation, as her hands returned to their previous ministrations beneath his fringe, causing him to bite back a growl, somewhat successfully. When she parted her lips for him, his tongue dove into her mouth, tasting and exploring, grasping her lower lip with his lower mouthplate to nibble on it teasingly. His hands slowly drifted up her sides, making her shiver at the sensation of his talons leaving a light pink path on her skin so near her spine. She whimpered a soft moan into his mouth, kissing him hungrily and lifting her leg to hook over his hip spur.

He couldn't hold back the growl this time, as her leg wrapped around his side and squeezed tightly. His hands shifted almost of their own volition to grasp beneath her thighs, pulling her still straightened leg up to match its partner over his other hip spur. She squeezed his waist tightly then with her powerful little legs, and he roared, breaking their kiss and gasping for air as the effects of her actions made his plates shift completely, freeing his member into his tight pants.

She grinned as she panted herself, and looked up at him through long lashes, her face flushed with passion, her eyes reflecting his own predatory glare back at him. When he saw that, he lost all the control he'd been trying to keep. He quickly backed her up to the wall and began tearing at her slight coverings, completely shredding them as the tatters of blue fabric fell to the floor in ruin. He let her down long enough to free himself of his own clothing, then roughly grasped her thighs again, hooking them over his hip spurs and entering her already wet hole in one movement.

She cried out in ecstasy as he rammed himself into her, reveling in his finally letting go enough to be himself, to listen to his instincts. She'd been planning this day for months; watching turian-on-turian porn to get a better education on how turian females pleasure their males, buying the lingerie in secret, hiding it from him, even preparing her skin with special ointments and pleasuring herself in anticipation before he came home. She'd waited until she got his arrival message before spritzing on the perfume she knew drove him wild, and it couldn't have worked better if she'd tried.

Her nails dug into the softer skin between the plates on his waist as he brutally pistoned into her, and she let her mind go blank, concentrating on pure instinct as she bit into his neck, hearing him roar and grunt loudly as his pace increased. She released his neck when the need for air overcame her, and she saw blue blood pearl on the bondmark she'd bitten in satisfaction. She screamed a string of profanities through clenched teeth as she neared her release, among them were his name, and an urgent order: "Fucking... fuck... my... cunt!" followed by a stream of 'fuck's and incoherent syllables as she unraveled.

A blinding flash of energy sparked up from her groin all the way to the back of her eyes as she came, screaming out her orgasm. He kept thrusting, though she could feel the thrusts were becoming erratic and disjointed, and she felt his cock harden fully inside her before he roared, diving his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder, digging his teeth into the bondmark he'd reopened many times as he spilled into her depths. He thrust once, twice, then stilled, panting raggedly against her skin. He slowly released her, lapping at the reopened bondmark gently as he came down from his high, sighing as he pressed his browplates against her forehead softly.

He chuckled lightly before he spoke through heavy breaths. "You... will be... the death... of me, Vima."

She let her head fall back against the wall as she laughed. She cupped his face in her hands and brought her head forward, kissing him on the nose before resting her forehead against his browplates, sighing happily.


End file.
